Echoes in the Pond
by PunkPirateUK
Summary: It was just a normal meeting until Russia left his keys and stepped into a spell that sent him into an alternate timeline where his darker counterpart rules. And just what will Alfred do when he finds out where Ivan has gone? RusAme  Really bad summery
1. Brave New World

**Well, hello~ Thank you for clicking on my little story. :D I hope that you all enjoy it and remember that reviews are like the food of writers. Constructive criticism is always welcome, as is praise (but I imagine the criticism would be more likely), just please don't flame. **

**Anyway, enjoy~**

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><p><strong>Brave New World<strong>

The meeting was supposed to be just an average, everyday meeting. Ivan was supposed to sit in his usual seat, smile politely, correct a certain infuriating American, add in a few comments here and there, and leave to return home. That was the plan anyway.

But, of course, things never really did go according to plan for Ivan Braginski. Problem number one began around the time he attempted to catch a cab. He reached in his pockets to make sure that he'd picked everything up, not wanting to make a return trip to America if it could be avoided. His hand dug around the empty pocket that generally held his keys. Well, he couldn't go home without those.

Muttering a "kolkolkol" under his breath, he walked back into the meeting room to pick up what had obviously fallen to the ground as some point. Unfortunately, the meeting room was busy hosting England, his brothers, Norway, China, and Romania. A large banner had been put up at some point between the end of the world meeting and the beginning of this one holding the words "Magic Club" written in England's neat, swirly font. And, things got progressively worse from there.

He remembered the look of horror etched onto England's face, Scotland's shouting and cursing, and Romania's strange chuckles right before there was an explosion of green light followed by darkness. That had been the second problem.

When he finally managed to wake up, his head was pounding as if he'd emptied out his vodka cabinet again. Placing a hand to his forehead, he sat up, cracking open violet eyes to see if he could catch sight of the "Magic Club." But, he was not in the meeting room, which constituted problem number three: he had no idea where he was.

The walls were a light tan and the room was rather sparse save for a desk pile high with papers and a phone. He had been lying on the large, soft bed, seeming to have been simply dumped there. Frowning, he climbed to his feet. Those stupid little countries must have dropped him off somewhere so they wouldn't have to fear retaliation. Now it was just a matter of finding out where they'd left him and how to extract revenge anonymously.

He walked to the simple wooden door and went to turn the knob at the same moment someone else on the other side bet him to it. He drew his hand back, an all too pleasant smile on his face waiting to greet whoever it was.

A pair of sky-blue eyes framed by a pair of glasses looked up at him, a hint of surprise and…something else showing in them. It was America. Of course. They probably thought it was funny to drop Ivan off with what was once his greatest enemy. Another "kolkolkol" passed his lips as he recalled every face in the magic club's meeting room.

But that's when problem four popped up: Alfred, America, flinched. Ivan frowned, sure that his eyes were mistaken. This was the same man who stood up in front of the strongest army in the world, at that time, grinning and ready to take on anything the British Army could throw at him. This was the man who barged right into a European war, intent on saving the day, facing some of the most horrific weapons man had ever made without blinking. This was the man who'd once stood toe to toe with Ivan, both holding the world and the future in their hands, without so much as faltering. And he _flinched_ at a simple "kolkolkol."

Maybe he was sick or something.

And then the strangest thing happened. Alfred turned around and walked back down the halls. Ivan blinked, utterly confused. No gloating? No "commie" jokes that had long since lost any meaning? Ivan nodded. Alfred _must_ be quite ill.

Ivan followed after America, intent on figuring out what was going on. The American seemed to speed up, his shoulders noticeably tense as he heard Ivan approach. Ivan quickly caught up and grabbed hold of the man's shoulder, trying to hold him in place without crushing his shoulder. This time, Ivan could feel the flinch. He wasn't imagining it at all.

"What are you doing, Amerika?" he asked.

The American turned his head to look over his shoulder, a strange confusion in his sapphire orbs, "ничего, Россия."

When… did Alfred learn to speak Russian? Sure, he knew a few insults that he liked to throw around, but that was hardly an insult. What was even odder was the fact that Alfred's Russian _sounded_ Russian. When Alfred threw around his insults, his speech was horrible, more than once making Ivan cringe internally. If he hadn't seen the blonde's mouth move and heard the familiar voice behind it, he wouldn't have believed it.

"Alfred," Ivan began, using his human name to get his attention, "Why are you speaking Russian?"

More confusion filled those sapphire orbs. The boy turned around to face Ivan completely. That's when Ivan noticed problem number five. The scar that brutally sliced its way from under Alfred's jawline, across his sun kissed neck, and across his opposite collarbone before neatly disappearing beneath the boy's shirt hadn't been there at the meeting just hours before.

Before Alfred could answer, Ivan pointed to the scar, "And when did you get that?"

"Have you been drinking?" Alfred asked, clearly confused and seeming slightly weary.

Ivan shook his head, knowing that he was echoing the confusion on Alfred's face, "нет, I have not. Perhaps I should be asking you that question. Tell me who did this."

"_You_ did this," Alfred said, his fingers touching the jagged scar, "The day you brought me here as your colony. That's what you wanted to hear me say, right?" The last part has been a hiss, fury decorating those usually cheerful blue eyes like blood on a white robe.

Ivan stared, unable to respond. Either this was the most elaborate joke Alfred had ever pulled, or this was the work of a certain English warlock.

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><p><strong>Ничего, Россия – Nothing, Russia.<strong>

**Well, I hope that wasn't too bad. That's the prologue, so trust me when I say that it gets a bit longer when the chapters start. The story also get better, so don't worry about that. In the next chapter, you get to see the regular Alfred and a glimpse of alternate world Alfred. Anyway, like I said, feel free to review and thanks for trying out the story~**


	2. Double Trouble

**You guys are so nice! *sniffs* I can't believe I got some many good reviews on the prologue! If I could hug you all, I would, so I'll just hug my computer instead. I mean it, thank you call for the reviews! **

** :D Anyway~ Here is the next chapter. And, just so I don't get busted by the FF people, I don't own Hetalia. **

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><p><em>Double Trouble<em>

America tapped his foot against the ground, staring at the empty seat. The _only_ empty seat, mind you. Sure, Russia sometimes dropped right out of meetings, but he usually sent some sort of notification before. Leave it to the comm-er… ex-commie to ruin his totally amazing speech. It was probably Ivan's evil plan to ruin Alfred's speech by not showing up. They couldn't go on with the meeting of Ivan wasn't present without risking an international incident. So, after an hour of waiting, Germany called it quits.

America sighed and turned to look towards England, knowing that he would be complaining about getting nothing done. The odd thing was, though, that his former brother was looking oddly nervous and speaking in whispers to Scotland while the redhead was literally slobbering drunk, his head collapsed against the table. He dully nodded to most of what England was saying, occasionally shooting back a line of slurred, unintelligible words that sounded angry or frustrated. Northern Ireland and Ireland were seated on either side of England and Scotland, both furiously skimming pages in old-looking books. Wales tapped his foot impatiently, looking up at the roof as if in deep thought, his eyes cloudy. Romania was standing behind Scotland, patting his back and commenting quietly to England with a grin that showed off a single pointed fang (that guy was totally a vampire and Alfred _knew_ it). And then there was Norway who, like the Irelands, was flipping through an even stranger looking book.

Alfred was confused. First of all, the Kirkland brothers were sitting together. Well, that wasn't unusual or anything since the British Isles brothers generally sat together (if England's brothers even came to the meeting at all). The weird thing was that they seemed to be…coexisting. Scotland was tamed by alcohol and not trying to tape signs reading "property of Scotland" on England's back or trying to publicly humiliate him with random recounting of the British nation's childhood. The Irelands weren't set up recordings of England's sleep talking to broadcast throughout the room. Wales… Okay, so Wales was being fairly normal, just without a sheep.

And then there was the fact that Romania and Norway were with them. That seemed a little odd… Alfred approached the only remaining nations in the meeting room. "Hey dudes, what's up?" he asked, taking a seat on the table across from England and Scotland.

Scotland shot up, dropping his alcohol on the ground (luckily the bottle was empty) and pointed to America, "Shhh! It's Amerizilla!"

Alfred blinked before snickering, "Dude, you're totally wasted."

Scotland looked appalled, placing a dramatic hand over his heart, "Really? I didn't notice, ya litt'e runt." He nudged England, grinning sloppily, "Raised a real winner, there, didn' ya?"

England's scowl deepened, but he didn't respond to Scotland, "What do you want, git? We're busy."

"Whatcha busy doin'?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Oh… Trying to get Russia back from the other timeline," Wales commented, still staring at the roof.

Alfred blinked, utterly lost, "Uh…"

Scotland reached over and slapped his brother on the back of the head," Why'd ya tell 'im that, you stupid lug?"

England sighed heavily, obviously frustrated and annoyed. "Ignore them, they're drunk," he instructed.

"What did he mean, other timeline?" Alfred asked, completely ignoring Arthur.

Wales sighed wistfully, his eyes looking as though he were somewhere else. From what he'd heard about England's southern brother, Wales liked often got caught up in what he liked to think of as visions like his brothers like to think they could see magical creatures. "I mean, thanks to Arthur, Ivan is stuck somewhere else entirely. Another world where something changed… Something big enough to separate it from ours," he explained, "Luckily, their Ivan didn't come here. Well, lucky for us, anyway."

"What are you talkin' about, man?" Alfred demanded.

This time, England answered, calmly and as though nothing were wrong, "I accidently sent Ivan into another world."

Alfred laughed hysterically.

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><p>Alfred laughed bitterly, feeling the thick, jagged scar under his fingertips. He'd agreed, gurglingly of course, to surrender on the terms that his and Matthew's people would be spared. He'd never agreed to do so happily. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been happy. How long had it been since he'd surrendered? That was roughly the last time.<p>

He'd been happy, carefree, and just plain _free_ then. Now, he woke to new wounds slicing neatly across his arms or chest. Of course, the only wound Russia had physically inflicted was the scar underneath his fingers, a few bruised jaws, and a momentarily ruined windpipe on a particularly rebellious day. The new injuries were from the crushing of his peoples' resistances. As morbid as it was, each morning he woke to find a new cut, he smiled. Because he _knew_ his people were still fighting. They wouldn't just give up. Each time Ivan saw them, he frowned.

And the ridicule wasn't really new, either. If the Russian was angry with the war against Japan (Alfred secretly wished Kiku all of the luck in the world, because he was going to need it) or spotted the look of defiance in Alfred's eyes, there was ridicule to talk him back down. He'd even been banned from speaking English at one time. But this was pushing what he could take and not snap back. If only Arthur was safe…

But no one was safe anymore; not Alfred, not Arthur, not Kiku, not Mattie, not even Ivan.

Obviously, the man had been drinking, despite how he denied it. That, or Ivan suddenly became the best actor in the world to fake that confused look. When the war became too much to handle at the time, the vodka came out and the memories vanished. On some occasions, he'd be asked how he got into the Russian's house. On others, Ivan would just stare at him, almost sadly, as if there were some horrible, Shakespearean tragedy playing out there. Shakespeare… It'd been a long time since he'd heard that one.

Alfred watched as the nation's brows lifted upward in shock before his expression returned to normal and he laughed softly. Laughed. He was _laughing_! The American had to ball up his fists, making angry red crescents against the plan of his hands to keep from slugging the taller man across that smug jaw. This was _not_ something to laugh about.

After a minute, Ivan sighed lightly, his laugher over, "Alright, then Amerika, this game has gone on long enough."

Alfred's brows knitted, "What game?" Did he know…? No, no, _no_. He knew about the information he was sending to Kiku… He gulped, taking a step back. What was he going to do? _Please… Not Arthur. Not my brother..._

Ivan took several steps, closing the hint of a gap between them. Alfred took another step back and Ivan took one forward. The game of cat and mouse lasted until Alfred's back hit the wall. He looked up at Ivan, his heart pounding as he waited to hear which relative was going to bear the retaliation. He bit at his lip in frustration. Heroes weren't supposed to get cornered… Ivan, on the other hand, seemed even more confused, "Stop it, Alfred. This may be funny to you, but it is not to me. Tell me where England is; I have a score to settle with him."

Wait… What? Arthur escaped…? Alfred's heart leaped in his chest. Arthur escaped! He made himself narrow his eyes, "I have no idea where England is; I've been right here this whole time. You know I can't leave without you hurting Mattie's lands."

The Russian frowned deeply, "Mattie?"

Yep, too much vodka. "Matthew. Canada," Alfred explained, "The other nation you're at war with."

Ivan shook his head, "I told you before, Alfred, this is _not_ funny at all. Where am I?"

Alfred bit at his lip to hold back a snide remark, "_Your_ house. And, trust me, dude, I agree; this ain't funny at all."

Ivan lifted his hand and Alfred narrowed his eyes, glaring back as he expected to feel the smashing stings of a fist hooking into his jaw. Instead, even worse, calloused fingers reached up to brush across the nasty scar. For a moment, his eyes fluttered shut, not used to human contact except the occasional violent outbursts after a particularly insulting remark. He quickly snapped them back open to leer with the full force of his furry, not bothering to move the hand that gently prodded at the scar.

A look of shock and confusion filled the Russian's face, "This… is real."

His breath didn't smell like alcohol… "I know," Alfred snapped back, confusion causing him to lose a bit of vigor.

"But it can't be," Ivan mumbled in a hurried whisper, "You did not have this in the meeting and I certainly couldn't have put it there."

"Did you get your skull cracked open or somethin' while you were fighting?" Alfred demanded, eyeing the head of fair hair for a trace of blood. He hadn't _looked_ injured when Alfred found him on the doorstep. But that would certainly explain why he'd been out cold.

"I have not been fighting," Ivan said calmly, his violet eyes glues to the scar with some sort of morbid fascination, "And you are _not_ my colony."

"Then what am I, huh?" Alfred sighed, his tolerance level quickly dropping off.

"You are Amerika. Annoying, loud, and very much independent," Ivan answered without blinking, "It would simply be… strange for you to be different. Да?"

The retort Alfred was going to make died on his lips when he spotted a figure in the corner of his eyes. He turned his head to see Toris heading their way. "Alfred, Ivan has retu-…" the Lithuanian stopped both in his walking and in his sentence, wide eyes watching Ivan, "B-But you…"

Ivan smiled, his fingers still resting against the portion of the scar that lay under Alfred's collarbone, "Ah, Toris. Perhaps you could explain to me what is going on here."

"And perhaps you could explain to me why your hand is on _my_ colony." It was the same voice, thick accent, only… hasher. Alfred's eyes widened significantly as he slowly looked down the other end of the hall to meet a pair of violet eyes _identical_ to the pair in front of him.

_Two_ Russias? _Somebody shoot me and get it over with now_…

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><p>Looking at your own face in the mirror was one thing. Looking at someone else with the <em>exact same<em> face was something else altogether. Both pairs of violet eyes blinked, both confused and curious. Ivan let his hand drop for the brutal scar that marred the American's skin so that he could turn fully towards his double.

"Oh, hello there me," he greeted with a smile. Obviously something else was at work here.

The other Ivan smiled a smile Ivan hadn't seen on his own face since the Cold War, "What has Arthur done this time, hm?"

Some of the confusion cleared up in Alfred's eyes. The American glanced back at Toris before continuing to glance between the two Russias. Ivan shrugged at his double, "I was just trying to figure that out for myself. Oh, by the way, I don't think I like you much." Especially if this was the person who put that nasty scar on the American's neck.

A hand latched onto his wrist, the grip strong, but not nearly what it should have been. There was an urgent tug, "C'mon!" With that, the America took off towards Toris' end of the hall, dragging Ivan along by the wrist, "Hurry it up, stupid giant!"

Ivan quickly fell into step with the American the moment he spotted his double reaching into his coat to pull out a gun. Obviously, this wasn't a prank. England had… done something. He just couldn't figure it out yet. Something that either knocked him out long enough for Alfred to suffer a serious injury and heal over completely. Oh, and long enough for someone to impersonate him.

Or… No, Arthur couldn't have… Could he? The magic England was so proud of generally backfired. Did he really have something powerful enough to change history…? No, that was just stupid. Right?

He heard the thunder of steps behind him, but they were slow. Almost as slow running as Ivan had been during the Cold War (he'd shed a few pounds since then, making him much faster). Alfred led him through a maze of halls, the America's grip on his wrist tightening periodically. He raced out of a door and into the snow that covered the ground. The wind was strong and the snow fall was heavy from the thick grey clouds. It was difficult to see further than a few feet and the sheer cold of the air bit down to the marrow of the bones.

The American laughed, continuing to run away from the house, "Can you believe that? First good luck I've had in freakin' sixty years. No way he can follow us out here."

At least Alfred was the same idiot, scar or no. "Amerika, you realize that we will die slowly out here, да?" he asked, slowing down.

He could feel the hand on his wrist already shivering violently. Wearing a sweater, slacks, and a pair of boots wasn't conducive to blizzard survival. "Nope, I've got a plan!" the American announced, "Just hurry up and follow me 'fore I end up like a popsicle."

He followed the American for roughly ten minute before Alfred took a sharp right and suddenly the snow stopped. Well, stopped falling on Ivan, that is. They were under shelter… in a cave.

Ivan looked to the American who was collecting precut twigs and a pile of straw and positioning them to start a fire. He dug a box of matches out of the straw and lit the separate, smaller pile, slowly feeding progressively larger twigs into the fire. At times, he would stop to rub his arms or hiss when his shaking hands twitched into the flames.

"You know what is going on, then?" Ivan asked, walking up to stand in front of Alfred, the building fire between them.

Sapphire eyes looked up from behind wire frames. Alfred scoffed at first before laughter boiled up from his throat, "I'll tell ya what's going on: I probably just killed Matt to run away with _you_." The last word was a hiss, enough anger seething from the final syllable to fill a stadium.

"It _was_ your decision," Ivan pointed out.

Alfred rose to his feet and stepped around the fire to glare up at Ivan. _That_ was the America he knew. Never back down, even if your opponent is a good deal taller than you. "So you're really not all that different. Good to know," he seethed, "Heartless commie where ever you go."

Ivan sighed, "I am not communist anymore." How many times did he have to tell him—Oh, yeah. Alfred was acting strange and there were two Ivans.

Said American blinked, backing down a bit. The confusion returned, "Wait… What?"

Well, that was a first. Generally there was some sort of comeback to that response. "You should know that, even as unobservant as you are. I have a president now. You _do_ remember that, да?"

This only led to more confusion on the American's part, "Uh… Dude, you've _never_ had a president…"

"Of course I do," Ivan responded calmly, his patience being tried once again by the infuriating blonde, "I haven't simply dreamed up the past few decades since the Soviet Union's collapse."

Alfred's blue eyes widened dramatically, "That's not right."

"What have I said that isn't _right_?" Ivan asked, his irritation starting to show through.

"Dude… The Soviet Union never fell," Alfred stated without blinking. That was impossible. Absolutely impossible. While Ivan struggled with his thoughts, Alfred decided to laugh, shaking his head as he returned to his fire, "Man, Artie's into some freakin' weird stuff."

Ivan couldn't agree more.

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><p><strong>So, there you have it~ :D I'm so glad you guys are still reading if you've made it to this little note. Anyway, I probably won't be updating every day and will likely fall into a once a week pattern, but I figured I should go ahead and get the first chapter out there in celebration of all of the reviews. :P Once again, thank you guys~ <strong>

**The next chapter will have the alternate Arthur making an appearance to offer some explainations and a hint of bad news for Ivan and alterante Alfred. Meanwhile, Alfred tries to help the Magic Club locate a way to bring Ivan back so he can give his big speech. **


	3. Past and Present

**Hello again~ If you've made it this far, let me just go ahead and say thank you! :D Hopefully you're still enjoying this, since that **_**is**_** my goal. Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed and read. I really, really, really appreciate it, you guys. It really makes my day to read them and I wish that I could put into words how happy they make me. But, on with the story~**

**And, no, I haven't magically gained ownership of Hetalia between this chapter and the last. **

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><p><em>Past and Present<em>

It was a miserable night. Even being used to the cold, sleeping in a cave with a simple fire and a few blankets was miserable after years of sleeping with the lovely technology of a heater. But even worse than the cold was the sound of Alfred's teeth clattering together and the sight of the blonde shivering and desperately rubbing at his arms at any given point when Ivan opened his eyes. If Ivan was cold, the younger nation must have been miserable, even if he did managed to plan ahead (apparently during the course of whatever happened, he'd gain the ability to have a bit of foresight which was an odd thought) and store away thick blankets for such an occasion.

After half an hour of listening to the chatter and seeing the shivers, Ivan crawled from under his blankets and picked the lot of them up. He laid them down on top of the ones already covering Alfred, placed a few more branches in the fire, and slipped under the combined cot.

"W-What're you d-doin'?" Alfred asked, still shivering rather violently as he rolled over to face Ivan.

"Keeping you from becoming a popsicle," Ivan answered with a small smile, "That _is_ what you wanted to avoid, да?"

Alfred managed a nod before pulling the new blankets up under his chin. "How can you _stand _this?" he hissed softly.

Ivan laughed. When did he become so… endearing? Oh, yes, when he quit babbling about heroes and cheeseburgers and actually acted like a normal human being. "Unlike you, I dress warm," he chuckled.

The shivers were slowing down now. He was almost able to lay still. "Yeah, yeah, rub it in why don't ya?" he muttered. With the blankets pulled up to his chin, Ivan could have mistaken him for the normal, happy-go-lucky Alfred if not for the hint of a scar peeking up from his jaw.

Ivan frowned. Whoever that man was that was impersonating him—his double—, he was going to have a long talk with him about scarring the boy. They may have been bitter rivals at one point, but that stage was thankfully at an end. At least, it had been until England decided to play wizard and turn the world upside down.

He reached out and touched to scar once again and, once again, Alfred allowed him, blue eyes fluttering shut. "I hate it," the younger blonde muttered without opening his eyes.

"Why? It just means that you have survived," Ivan asked, "We all have them." You just couldn't last long as a representative of a nation without carrying several.

Sapphire eyes opened halfway, disappointment and failure written clearly in them. Ivan didn't like that; that look did not belong on that face. "It's gross," he answered simply. Ivan knew it was a ploy to basically say "I don't want to talk about it." Never had he heard the American claim that anything about him was "gross," much less his own skin.

Sighing, Ivan sat up, signaling Alfred to do so as well. Slightly confused and just a hint weary, he did as asked. Ivan untwisted the scarf from his neck and wrapped it neatly around Alfred's scared one. "There, now you can only see part of it," he announced, "Just don't lose that."

Alfred blinked a few times before reaching up to touch the soft, old fabric. "I don't understand," he admitted, "You know you got this from your sister, right?"

At least that fact matched up. Ivan nodded, "I know. You're only borrowing it until you can find your own. Understand?"

A slow smile worked its way across the younger man's feature as he looked down at the end of the material. He nodded, "Thanks, dude. Guess I was wrong about you after all."

"It would not be the first time," Ivan chuckled, recalling many, many incidents when he'd known the American to have a rather stupid assumption (laser vision, case and point).

Alfred slipped back under the blankets, his shivering nearly gone. He took off his glasses and set them down nearby. He kept the scarf on. "You know that you could strangle yourself with that, correct? And then what would be the good of staying warm?" Ivan teased.

Alfred laughed, "Yeah, well, at least I'll die nice and toasty."

Ivan sighed and shook his head before ducking back under the blankets, "I will never understand you."

There was a long pause in the conversations. In fact, Ivan was sure Alfred was asleep until he heard the American's voice, "You know… I bet Kiku would just eat this up."

"Pardon?" Ivan asked.

"Ya know? The whole two of you where one is a total psycho and one er… well, I don't really know yet," Alfred answered with a snort of laughter. Well that was odd. Generally Alfred jumped to his own conclusions. He generally didn't care much for looking at the actual evidence.

Ivan found himself chuckling, "You do not think I am a psycho as well?"

There was a short pause in which he heard Alfred shuffling around. He cracked open a violet eye to spot a strange pink color dusting the American's cheeks as he shifted, pulling the blankets up higher. "It's… I don't know. You just reminded me of somethin' earlier," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

Ivan blinked several times, watching Alfred's squirming end, "And what is that?"

For a moment, Ivan was sure he wasn't going to tell him. There was a conflict in his eyes that seemed to end the moment he looked up at Ivan. He sighed lightly, resembling the Alfred Ivan was used to when the younger man actually stopped long enough to think. As rare as those moments were, Ivan had seem several, especially during his short stay with the American during his Civil War. "We were friends once, ya know?" he started, "It was a long time, but yo- _he_ helped me keep everybody else from ripping me in half." Ah, one more detail that matched up.

"I remember that," Ivan added in, "You were not looking so well at the time." Alfred looked a bit surprised, but nodded. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the roof of the cave. The long, jagged scar was peeking up from behind the scarf. "How did this happen?" Ivan asked, touching the scar.

Alfred glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, "I told you—Fine, look. I think it was an accident."

Ivan raised a brow, "That is a rather nasty accident." Not to mention the venom he'd let loose when Ivan hadn't recalled putting it there. He'd thought it was intentional from that reaction.

Alfred looked back up that the roof, his eyes glazing over with a memory, "I always fight beside my people in the same uniforms they wear. Makes me proud of 'em, ya know? Anyway, I think you… _he_ thought I was just another human when it happened, so when I didn't actually die, he decided to take off the helmet and surprise surprise, it was a familiar face."

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><p>The memory was foggy from that point.<p>

Alfred could recall gasping for breath that never came. He remembered trying to scream just to know he wasn't dead, but he couldn't make a noise. So he lay on his back, shaking while numb hands desperately, weakly, tried to press at the wound, eyes wide with horror.

And he remembered violet eyes wide in recognition and… something else. He could recall an authoritative shout and soothing whispers, all spoken in a language he had yet to learn. And when he woke up after the medically induced sleep to allow him time to heal, he learned of his downfall. But there had been no gloating from Ivan, just simple facts. He'd left soon after Alfred's throat couldn't handle anymore yelling and returned several hours later, drunk and completely oblivious to the fighting going on. Toris said Ivan had carried him back and, afterwards, just stared at the blood on his gloves before ripping them off and continuing to stare at his hands. But Toris always had a soft spot for Ivan. And Alfred, too, at one point had…

He shook his head, clearing the memories.

"Well radio Arthur in the morning," he announced, changing subjects, "Oh, and dude?"

"Hm?" came the simple response.

Alfred grinned before rolling over, "Thanks." Maybe things were starting to look up. It'd be a nice change.

Unfortunately, the nightmares that plagued his sleep had different plans.

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><p>"What d'ya mean he's <em>stuck<em>?" Alfred demanded, looking down at Arthur who was sitting calming in his basement, flipping through Latin and runic books with his brothers, Romania, and Norway.

"I mean exactly what I told you," the Brit responded calmly, "And if you would allow me to finish speaking before you start complaining, I would appreciate it. I know that I raised you better than that."

Alfred crossed his hands over his chest and gave a nod, "Fine, be that way, old man."

Arthur's eye twitched comically while he tried to hold in an outburst. To Alfred's surprise, he actually succeeded. "Ivan is stuck there until _we_ bring him back," Arthur continued, "And before you begin shouting again, all I need is the reversal spell."

"Before something terrible happens, of course," Wales commented cheerfully, petting a sheep plushie that apparently was a gift from Ireland.

Alfred stared at the Welshman before turning back to Arthur, "Iggy… your brothers are weird."

Arthur sighed, "If I recall, you, too, were my brother." Alfred cringed. _Ouch_.

Wales was still smiling, looking over at Alfred, "It'll all work out. Trust me."

Scotland scoffed, flipping through another page in his book. The redhead was sitting back in a chair nearby with his booted feet propped up on the table and a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his lips. "I'd watch out, runt," he warned Alfred, his green eyes lifting from the book to observe the American, "The last time he said that, I ended up gettin' hit by a car… in France."

"But it _did_ work out," Wales argued, looking a bit chest-fallen, "You know that you-"

"Big brother speech veto," Scotland cut in with a raised hand.

Arthur nodded, "Yes, let's _not_ hear about frog nurses, shall we. In case you've forgotten, we're trying to find Russia. Alfred, why don't you sit down and go through the books that are written in English?"

"What am I lookin' for?" he sighed, taking a seat next to Ireland.

* * *

><p>After two hours of mind-numbing and completely useless searching, Alfred left Arthur's house to go pick up a burger to ease his nerves. Wait… Why was he nervous? Oh yeah, he'd spent two hours reading about really weird hexes and junk and Ivan was <em>still<em> missing.

Not that Alfred cared of course. He _didn't_. He just wanted to make his totally amazing speech and that was _it_. Nothing else.

Okay, so it just wasn't nearly as fun to go to a meeting without arguing with Ivan. But that was really where it ended… Right?

He sighed, kicking a pebble down the street.

_Stupid Ivan, you'd better be okay_.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Ivan woke up to the smell of cooking food and burning wood. He yawned and opened his eyes to find Alfred waving his hand back and forth, hissing. "What are you doing?" Ivan asked, confused by the strange gesture.<p>

Alfred looked over with a sheepish grin, still waving his hand, "I burned my hand again."

Ivan got up and walked to the fire were Alfred had started heated what appeared to be jerky. "Let me," he offered, taking the little metal pan from Alfred, "Why are you cooking this, anyway?"

"'Cause it's frozen," Alfred complained, "I don't wanna eat an ice cube."

Ivan made no response as he worked to heat up the strips of jerky to an acceptable temperature before offering one to Alfred and taking one for himself. The American ate with as much vigor as Ivan was used to seeing. It was almost comforting, if not just a bit disturbing.

Breakfast was fairly quiet with only a comment here or there. After both men ate, Alfred turned to the pile of straw and pulled out a small, archaic radioing system. "If we can get him, he might be able to get a copter in here," Alfred explained.

"And if he cannot?" Ivan asked.

Alfred frowned a but, his fingers working skillfully on the wiring, "Then we see who kills us first, the winter or the other you."

"I see you are as good at planning as ever," Ivan commented. Leave it to Alfred to run off into a life-threatening situation without a plan.

A buzz cut through any further conversation. "Arthur? You there?" Alfred called into the static, "It's Al. C'mon, pick up."

Ivan wasn't sure how much time passed before there was a familiar voice on the other end of the radio. "Mon cher? What are you doing on the line?" the French accented voice asked through the storm of buzzing.

"Francis? Dude, where's Artie?" Alfred responded, "Is he okay?"

"Yes, he iz doing better," Francis responded, "But you 'ave not answered my question."

Alfred sighed, "I escaped. Look, I really need to talk to Arthur. Something really weird happened."

Francis was silent for a while, "What about Canada?"

Ivan saw the guilt plaguing Alfred's expression as he bit his lip, searching for an answer. "As soon as I get back to my country, I'm going to help him," Alfred announced, "I'm gonna finish this as soon as I can."

"Mon patit, are you sure that you can do that?" Francis asked, sounding concerned, "After all, 'e was your—"

"I'm sure," Alfred cut in. He glanced at Ivan, the dust of pink from earlier returning to his cheeks, "Just… Can you put Artie on now?"

There was a sigh and some shuffling before the familiar voice of England cut through the static, "Alfred? Are you alright? Where are you? What happened?"

Alfred laughed, his smile brightening his brilliant sapphire eyes, "I'm fine, Iggy. Calm down or you'll have a heart attack, old man."

"Shut up," Arthur snapped without any real force, "Tell me where you are and what's going on."

Alfred went on to explain the events from the previous day, allowing Ivan to overhear that he'd been found collapsed in front of the doorway. Arthur was silent the entire time, presumably listening. However, when Alfred finished, he was quick to speak again. "And this other Russia… He's with you?" he asked.

Alfred held out the mike and Ivan scooted closer to speak into it, "Да, I'm here."

There was a short pause before Arthur spoke again, "What is the very last thing you recall before you woke up?"

Ivan recalled it clearly, "I was walking back into the meeting room to get my keys. Your little magic club was there and you read from a book."

Another pause. "And, Alfred, you're sure that this one is not like the other one?"

"Yeah, pretty sure," Alfred answered, "He just has some pretty crazy ideas about what's been goin' on these past few years."

This time, the pause was more dawn out. "I think I know what happened," Arthur announced slowly, "If I'm not mistaken, there is a spell for transporting objects to…another place."

"Another place?" Alfred asked, not understanding.

"Well, not a place, exactly; though that is entirely possible as well," Arthur explained, "More specifically… another timeline where some major event has been altered—someone important was never born, a death occurred too soon, any number of things, really."

Alfred slowly turned to look at Ivan with wide sapphire eyes. Slowly, a bright grin grew blossomed on his features, "Freakin' sweet!"

If only Ivan felt the same way…

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, Al, it's awesome to have multi-dimensional travel! :D Anyway, hopefully you're starting to catch on to the fact that there's more at play with Alternate Ivan than it initially seemed.<strong>

**As for the next chapter… Alfred comes to terms with some memories while Ivan discovers that Alternate Al has a secret while they try to make it to Canada with Arthur's help. **


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